


Fallen

by noexiiistence



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 20:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noexiiistence/pseuds/noexiiistence
Summary: It had been six thousand years, Crowley had expected this question for the first two. But he hadn't expected it to still hurt now.





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a mashup of the book and show as far as how I envision the apocalypse happened the day before, and an attempt to blend the two for characterization. Their relationship is open to interpretation.

The back of Aziraphale’s bookshop was warm. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable; it was cluttered in books and papers, with a computer cramped in the corner, but it was comfortable to Crowley; it was familiar. It let him forget, for a moment, that the world almost ended yesterday. And, most importantly, it had the angel.

"What was it like?" Aziraphale's question breaks the comfortable silence, as he pours tea into two cups, sliding one across the partially cluttered table between them.

Crowley frowns inwardly. Aziraphale sounded concerned. Anxious even, as though the apocalypse hadn't already been averted. "What was what like?"

He doesn't look up as he busies himself putting cream and sugar into his tea. "Falling, I mean," comes the reply at length. Aziraphale finally looks at him as he sits down.

Crowley's outwardly frowning now, picking up his teacup. What was he supposed to say? That he had never wanted to fall? That this wasn't what he expected out of asking a few questions? Was he asking about the long descent into Hell? About his time there before the Earth was created? About why he spent all of his time _avoiding_ returning to Hell? He had never talked about it before, though he had dreamed of it once or twice, in the rare times that he slept; it wasn't something one simply _forgot_ after all. But what was the angel asking? _Why_ was he asking? It had been six thousand years and he had never mentioned it before.

"What do you mean?" Crowley asks slowly, taking a sip of his tea, trying to hide the fact he wanted to think of anything but this. His eyes, hidden by his sunglasses, were narrowed despite himself. Not that he was suspicious of the one sitting across from him, but of the question in general, of the subject sitting between them.

Aziraphale hesitates before he speaks again. "...Did it hurt?" he asks carefully, as though there was a way to ask a demon about _falling_ without treading on a few landmines.

Crowley lets his lips slide into an easy smirk. "You want to know if it hurt when I fell from Heaven?" He jests, as though it would change the subject. He had never liked the pickup line, there was no way the human mind could truly understand the experience of falling from heaven, no way they could comprehend it, but he had watched it land more than once.

"Yes." The joke is completely lost on Aziraphale and Crowley should have expected no less. The expression on Aziraphale's face is anxious, one he suspected the angel had been making a lot the last few days, the days they had thought were leading to The End.

Crowley sighs and takes another drink of his tea. Where did he even start? How did he even describe how it felt? It had been beyond pain, far more than anything he had experienced since. "Yes," he answers simply, what else was there to say?

"What was it like?"

"It burned," Crowley's gaze goes distant as he remembers, staring into his cup, sunglasses sliding slowly down his nose. "I have never felt anything like it before or since, it was burning, all over. The loss of grace, the loss of Her love, of Her approval..." Old wounds resurfaced, old hurts hurt anew. He pretended he was over this but he knew better and it was all rushing back now.

"We fell through stars, stars I helped create rushing past, watching Heaven recede in the distance. I burned, my _wings_ burned, it's what turns them black, you know." He comes back to himself and downs the rest of his tea, taking the moment to compose himself again. "And then I was in Hell, all new and freshly created. Just for us."

"Sounds terrible," Aziraphale murmurs after a moment of silence indicating Crowley was done speaking. "Your...wings?"

"Have you never wondered how demonic wings turn black?" Crowley considers his empty cup for a moment before looking back up at Aziraphale, steeled against the depths of his sympathy and pity. "Why are you asking now? It _has_ been six thousand years."

"Oh, I," Airaphale's gaze falls and shifts to the side as he takes another drink of his own tea. "I wished to know what it was like."

"What for?" Crowley presses, placing his forearms on the table and leaning on them, looking intently at the other.

"I...want to be prepared. For Heaven's wrath."

Crowley feels his heart fall and he leans back in his seat, wishing he hadn't emptied his tea yet. "If they were going to have you Fall, angel, you would have by now." He had considered, before, the potential repercussions of their Arrangement should either of their sides learn of it, back when it was still new, however he hadn't thought of them in ages. Certainly not since he had grown _fond_ of Aziraphale. Hadn't realized it would hurt _him_ , too, should Aziraphale be forced to Fall for him.

"One can never know Her will," Aziraphale reasons. "Perhaps it is still being decided."

"Make use of your grace, then." Crowley pushes his sunglasses up his nose again, slouching in his seat. "The world could use it, anyway."


End file.
